Of A Day I Had Rued
by kad88
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, believing that enlisting would bring purpose to his life, found himself overseas fighting against rebellions in the colonies. But when an injury leaves him separated from his comrades, he finds himself in the care of two colonial boys, who show him that a purpose can arise in ways one least expects. American Revolution Human AU. Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
1. Injury

Ch. 1: Injury

 **AN: Hello! This is an Ace family, human au fic (with other characters mixed in) set during the American Revolutionary War. There will be no pairings and the story mostly focuses on platonic relationships. Feedback is welcome! :)**

 **And a special thanks to a guest reviewer who fixed the google translate German.**

 **Warnings: Some violence, some physical abuse in the first few chapters (mostly implied, nothing sexual or graphic), character death (only in the first chapter), and research was done but there will probably still be historical inaccuracies**

* * *

September, 1777

Arthur clung to the tree root beside him, struggling to keep his breath steady. _Just don't panic_ , he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _You are a Kirkland, and you will make it out of this alive._ But the words sounded false, even in his own mind. It had been hours since he had last seen his comrades, and here he was, lying on his front, inches deep in mud. _Come on Kirkland, if you quit Ludwig will have your head._ His chest clenched at the thought of Ludwig, but he ignored it. He could not believe that it hadn't even been an hour since he and his friend had been drinking merrily at the town bar.

Arthur knew he had to move if he ever wanted to be found. The trees blocked any view his fellow soldiers may have had of him, and though the pain in his sloppily tourniqueted leg had numbed, each attempt to shift his leg sent an agonizing burning sensation rippling through him.

He clawed at the muddy ground, rocking toward the side and pushing hard against the floor. Arthur repeated the motion several times, each time hissing as the movement sent a fiery heat up his thigh. He cursed under his breath as he forced himself to roll onto his back. Allowing himself a moment of rest, the soldier took a steady breath. Again, he pushed against the ground, despite the protests from both his leg and his sore arms. Eventually, he found the strength to sit up, using his arms to push his back against a tree trunk.

 _Whether my allies or the colonials find me, it will not be pleasant_ , he thought. Arthur considered his options: being caught by enemy militia, or being punished by his own regiment. Either option would undoubtedly lead to pain. Glancing down at the mass of blood—-much of it dry, but more still running freely out of the bullet wound in his thigh—-he shook his head. _If someone does not find me soon it won't matter who it is, I'll be dead._ He let escape a hysterical giggle. 'Imagine that, dying before I've even seen real battle.'

Arthur found himself staring at the body several meters from him, its torso covered in blood. The corpse was that of a young man, and judging from his build, Arthur guessed he couldn't be much older than he was. If only he hadn't—

The Englishman sighed. He could dwell on the consequences of his actions later. For now, he needed to concentrate on surviving. _Not that you really have much to live for_ , a voice inside his head whispered.

Arthur grimaced and looked up at the sky, feeling his vision starting to blur. Maybe he should have visited his brothers more often. Maybe he should have spoken more kindly to the staff. Maybe if he had tried harder, he could have convinced Ludwig to stay at the camp. His gaze settled upon the North Star, just visible through the treetops. He chuckled. _Well, you came out here to be something—-someone—-more. Look where that got you_ , he chided himself.

Arthur did not know how long he stared at the light above him, but soon, the view of the sky was interrupted by the face of a young, blue-eyed boy. Arthur could tell he was shouting something. He scrunched his eyebrows together, trying to process the words the boy spoke, but the sounds echoed into a surreal static. A strange sense of peace cleared his mind before he slipped into darkness.

* * *

"Ludwig, this isn't a good idea," Arthur said, stumbling over a tree root.

"Ich weiß," Ludwig replied. "But we may not get another opportunity."

The two were headed toward a small town they had noticed when patrolling the area surrounding their camp. At first, Arthur had been surprised when Ludwig, who he had always seen as one to strictly adhere to the rules, had suggested sneaking out of base for a pint of beer. But then, alcohol had been on lockdown since a few soldiers had drunk themselves into a stupor only a few days before. Arthur could only assume his friend was getting desperate if he was willing to go behind the corporal's back just for a drink, and there was no way he would allow Ludwig to get himself into trouble on his own.

Arthur shuddered, recalling how a few drunks had been picketed for their misconduct. He could only hope that if they were caught, it would be by their own squad. Their corporal was rather lax, handling punishment on his own and giving much lighter sentences than that of the colonel who led their regiment. Arthur knew that if news of their corporal's mercy ever reached the higher ups, their squad leader would face serious charges.

 _A pint of beer is most assuredly not worth the risk to ourselves and our squad leader_ , Arthur thought. _But Ludwig's not thinking clearly enough to listen to reason._ He eyed the back of his friend's head, holding tight to his musket. _I suppose if you can't beat them, join them._

The two entered the town, feeling more secure than they had in the woods. One of the scouts had informed them that a majority of the town—-called Madison, Arthur was told—-consisted of loyalists, so they didn't expect any trouble from the residents, themselves. Arthur and Ludwig were confident that not only would the citizens accept their presence, but would be hospitable to them if they sought out refuge for the night at a local bar. Arthur told himself that their only problem now would be sneaking back into camp. If only he hadn't been so naive.

 **(Insert Line Break)**

"So, what's it going to be for you two boys?" asked the bartender, a kind-looking woman with a round face and heavy eastern European accent.

"A beer for me," Ludwig answered. She turned toward Arthur, who opened his mouth to place his order. "He'll have water," Ludwig said before Arthur could get a word out. The woman raised an eyebrow at the German man. "He can't hold his liquor," he explained.

The woman chuckled. "Not even a beer?"

"Nein."

Arthur glared at the friend beside him, but nodded slowly, knowing there was truth to the man's words.

"Be right up in a second," the woman said.

She shortly returned with their drinks, and the two consumed their beverages in silence. After a few minutes, Arthur felt Ludwig's eyes on him.

"Do you need something, Ludwig?" Arthur asked without looking up from his drink.

Ludwig cleared his throat. "There has been some, how do I say, buzz around camp about you."

"Oh?"

"They say the name Kirkland is well know across the British Isles."

Arthur hummed in response, knowing where the conversation was going.

"They say the Kirklands, despite having some stigma surrounding the family, are considerably wealthy."

"And you wonder why someone wealthy such as myself is here as a soldier instead of an officer." Arthur stated.

"You do have the money to become one," Ludwig pressed.

Arthur nodded, staring into space. "I suppose I simply wasn't interested."

"Verzeihung?" Ludwig asked, his forehead creased.

"I mean, I am wealthy, yes. But there was really nothing for me back home. And I don't particularly want to be a leader. I came out here to find… purpose, I suppose—- to find myself." Arthur laughed. "It sounds strange, I know. This just felt like the right thing to do."

Ludwig grunted in response, taking one final swig of his drink. "We should leave. It will be wake-up call soon."

Arthur groaned, rising from his seat. "Sneaking out like this was a bit childish," he said. Then, noticing the guilty look on his friend's face, he continued, "But I suppose it's alright as long as you've got your drink." Arthur grinned. Ludwig returned his smile, or at least, Arthur thought he did. The man had lifted the corners of his mouth slightly, and Arthur assumed that for him, that qualified.

They stepped out of the bar, and Arthur breathed in the cool night air of the Rhode Island town. Despite the tremendous and irresponsible risk they had taken tonight, Arthur found himself feeling content. It was the first time in a while he had allowed himself to simply relax and enjoy a friend's company.

An ear-splitting crack interrupted the silent night air. Ludwig fell to the side, his entire body weighing down on the smaller man beside him. Arthur immediately tried to catch the man, but all he could do was help soften the fall.

It took a moment for Arthur to process what had happened.

Then he saw the blood.

A gunshot.

Ludwig's chest was covered in the sticky, dark red liquid. His erratic breathing overpowering all other sounds as some of the town's residents caused a commotion around him. Arthur ripped off his coat, putting pressure on Ludwig's chest. His stomach lurched when he realized gravity of the location of his friend's wound.

 _No. No, please._ Arthur prayed that the bullet had missed Ludwig's heart.

"Someone, help!" Arthur shouted to the small crowd around him. He had some experience with aiding wounded soldiers, but this was different. There were no other soldiers, no medics, to help him. The townspeople didn't move. "What are you all doing! Someone fetch a bloody doctor!"

Still, the townspeople didn't make a move to help. Arthur glanced up at their faces. Most looked indifferent. Some looked… smug? Before Arthur could further consider their reactions, a hand touched his. He jumped back, hand moving to his dropped musket, before realizing it was the bartender.

"Dear, there isn't anything we can do," she whispered.

Arthur's throat felt dry. He reached forward and took Ludwig's pulse.

Nothing.

Arthur stared into his friend's eyes, now staring glassily at the empty skies above. He choked back a sob and reached a hand to close them.

In battle, he was prepared to lose comrades, but this wasn't battle. His squad had never even seen the battlefield yet, and here he was, mourning the sudden death of a friend.

He turned his attention back to the crowd. Arthur recognized hostility in the eyes of many. _Wasn't this supposed to be a loyalist town?_ He thought, glaring at the crowd.

"Who did this?" his voice croaked.

None of the townspeople answered, though he saw a few eyes flicker to the right. He turned to see what drew their eyes.

A man with a long rifle.

Arthur's vision went red. Before he could think about what he was doing, his hand grasped his musket and he raced off toward the man. His sudden movement caused the man to jump, and he quickly turned to flee from his pursuer.

Arthur chased the man into the surrounding woods, determined not to lose sight of him. "Stop!" he shouted.

The man halted, turning to face him. Arthur almost rammed into the man, surprised that he had actually complied to his order.

"Why?" he demanded, keeping his musket at ready. He hadn't had time to load it, like he was sure this enemy had, but the bayonet attached at the end would still do damage.

"What do you mean why?" the man spat. "You filthy redcoats think you can come into our town and drink our beer? You have no place in this country."

Arthur's head spun. "But, this is a loyalist town, why— "

The man laughed. "Well I believe you were misinformed. What did you think we would say when an entire regiment was stationed right at our front door? The others were too afraid to say anything when you and your buddy showed up tonight, but I'm not them." He aimed the long rifle at Arthur.

Without thinking, Arthur charged. A gunshot rang out, and Arthur felt a sting in his thigh, but he ignored it, trying to grab the gun from the other man's hands. He punched the man in the jaw as his other hand held tightly to the long rifle. The punch caused the man to loosen his grip enough for Arthur to yank it out of his hands. The Englishman raised his musket to hit the man over the head, but his opponent's hands snapped up to grab Arthur's gun. They struggled with the musket, each throwing jabs and kicks at the other.

Then, the man smiled. This threw Arthur off-guard, and he unconsciously loosened his grip on the musket. "You know," the man began, "I wonder if the townspeople will still be afraid to fight if one of you lobsters kills one of their own."

Arthur's forehead creased as he tried to interpret what the man meant with those words. He gasped when he felt the musket being ripped from his grip, the bayonet pointed toward the American man. Arthur stumbled back as the man forced the blade into his own stomach.

He watched as the man coughed up blood, and for the first time since the horrid night began, Arthur realized just how young the man looked: either in his late teens or early twenties. The events of the night since they had left the camp flashed through Arthur's mind, and he was aware of a warmth spreading around his thigh.

Tears streamed down his face as he ripped a strip from his shirt off and began tying a tourniquet around his leg.

 _How foolish we were_ , he thought. _How incredibly foolish._

Another sob escaped his throat before he fell face-first in the mud.


	2. Salvation

Ch. 2: Salvation

* * *

Alfred awoke to the crack of thunder. At least, that was what he thought it was, but when he glanced out the window of the dusty attic, there wasn't a cloud in the night sky.

"Mattie," Alfred whispered, shaking his 10-year-old identical twin. "Mattie, did you hear that?"

His brother swatted his hand and groaned, turning in his sleep to face the other direction.

"Mattie!" Alfred tried again, but his brother didn't stir. Sighing, Alfred threw aside his blanket and stood. He tiptoed down the stairs, eyeing the door to his uncle's room cautiously as he passed.

When he reached the shop below their rooms, he broke into a run and swung the door open. Leaning his head out, Alfred peered from side to side. At this hour, the town was typically quiet, save for a few adults wandering the street. But when he peered to the left, he noticed a crowd of people gathered down the road. Shutting the shop door behind him, Alfred stepped outside. When the cool dirt path chilled his feet, he wished he had thought to take shoes downstairs with him. Shrugging it off, Alfred walked towards the commotion.

As he neared the scene, Alfred could hear the adults speaking in hushed voices.

"Should we go after them?"

"What do we do with the body?"

"That blasted Evans is gonna have redcoats knocking down our doors when they hear what happened."

 _Redcoats?_ Alfred thought. He had heard of the battles that had taken place in Massachusetts just a few months prior, and he knew that they had set up camp no more than a few miles from their town. Alfred felt his face grow hot as he thought of redcoats invading his home. His uncle had talked about the redcoats and how they were the enemy—- how they were oppressors and murderers. Not that he believed a word his uncle said. However, the enemy part seemed to be the general consensus of the other townspeople.

Creeping closer, Alfred pushed past a few people to see what drew the crowd's attention. His blood ran cold. There, in the center of the small mass of people, was a redcoat, lying still on his back. He was blond and pale-faced. If there hadn't been blood covering his body, Alfred would have mistaken him for a passed out drunk. Shivering, Alfred pushed his way back through the crowd. His breath hitched as the image of the man's corpse etched into his mind. Nobody even glanced his way as he turned and ran into the forest, hoping to escape the terror he had just seen.

Before he had even reached the woods, another gunshot rang out.

 _No, not again!_ Alfred thought, rushing toward the sound of the gunshot. _I won't let anyone else die. I'll be the hero!_ He let this thought drive him as he raced towards the sound.

After a few minutes of running, he realized he didn't know exactly how far away the gunshot had sounded from. He wasn't even entirely sure he was running in the right direction. _But heroes don't quit_ , Alfred thought.

He tried not to think about what would await him when he reached the origin of the sound. The image of the redcoat's corpse was still fresh in his mind, and he didn't particularly want to see another. Alfred stumbled. _I wish I brought a torch with me_ , he thought, barely managing to regain his footing.

Alfred amused himself with thoughts of being the hero as he continued running. He imagined coming back home to Mattie with a good story to tell that would make his brother smile. Alfred grinned at the thought of his brother's smiling face.

That grin turned into a yelp as Alfred's feet disappeared from under him. He flew forward and skidded across a muddy, shrub-filled ground, scraping his arms. Alfred rubbed the back of his neck as he turned around to see what he tripped over. He noticed a long shape crumpled on the ground, and cautiously crept closer for a better view.

Gasping, he stumbled back.

Another corpse.

This one he recognized as one of the townspeople: the son of the butcher, if he recalled correctly: Benjamin Evans. The man had never been nice to him, but Alfred felt tears sting his eyes as he stared into the man's unseeing ones.

From behind him, Alfred heard a groan. Turning around, he noticed another body leaning against the tree. It was a short, blond man—-about twenty, Alfred would guess—-with shocking green eyes. He sat staring at the heavens, but his eyes were unfocused. _Thank goodness_ , Alfred thought, letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. _He's still alive_. Upon seeing the blood seeping from the man's leg, Alfred rushed to his side.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Alfred shouted in the man's face.

The man scrunched his unusually large eyebrows, but didn't respond. His eyelids fluttered.

Alfred felt his stomach drop. "Come on, stay with me! I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

 _Just don't die. I don't want to see another person dead tonight._

But the man's eyes closed and his head sagged.

* * *

Alfred leaned against the front door of his uncle's shop, breathing heavily.

"You know, you're a lot heavier than you look," he wheezed, glaring at the collapsed man beside him. "Don't move, I'll be right back," Alfred said, feeling somewhat daft for talking to someone who was clearly unconscious.

Alfred raced up the steps toward his room, only slowing to silently slip passed his uncle's door, before returning to a run.

"Mattie!" Alfred whisper shouted, jumping on his brother.

"Ow, Al! What are you doing it's not even sunrise," Matthew said, yawning.

"There's no time. I need you to help me bring someone up the stairs; I think he was shot."

Matthew bolted upright. "What?" he hissed.

"Hurry!"

Matthew followed his brother down the stairs and just outside the shop.

"Open the door so I can bring him in," Alfred ordered.

Matthew nodded solemnly and watched as Alfred struggled with the body. Together, they dragged him across the shop and began hauling him up the stairs.

"Be more careful Alfred. We don't want to make his condition worse," Matthew whispered from where he held the man's legs.

"He's bleeding out. How much worse can it get?" Alfred whispered back, but he knew how it could get worse. The man could end up like the other two Alfred had seen.

The two fell silent as they finished making their way up the stairs. With one final heave they dropped him unceremoniously on the attic floor, both cringing as his head hit the ground.

"I'll get the medical supplies," Matthew whispered, walking to a worn chest on the far side of the attic. "You put pressure on his wound. It doesn't look like that tourniquet was tied properly."

Alfred nodded mutely.

Matthew sat down over the man's leg, pulling out some water to clean the wound. Lifting the leg, Matthew felt beneath the thigh. "It looks like the bullet went clean through, which is good. I don't really know how to get one out," he said. "Go grab some alcohol from Uncle's stash."

Alfred hesitated, but did as he was told, bringing in some of the heavier alcohol their uncle consumed. Mattie took it from his hands and dabbed some on the wound to disinfect it.

"Remind me why we aren't taking him to the town doctor?" Matthew asked as he began wrapping the wound.

"Look, I'll explain everything just finish up first."

Matthew sighed. "Fine, but you owe me one."

Matthew had been training as the doctor's apprentice for almost a year now. Alfred had never given it much thought, but he was grateful for it now. Who knew his brother's drive to help others in a less combative way than Alfred's style would prove to be so useful?

"I hope I did this right," Matthew muttered, motioning for Alfred to help him move the man to their bed. If one could call it that, as the the twins' bed was a pile of blankets on the attic floor.

"Are you going to explain?" Matthew asked once they had been assured that the man was taken care of.

Alfred nodded and launched into a full explanation of all he had seen that night—-from the townspeople's gossip and the dead bodies to the man's injury. Matthew listened silently, nodding for Alfred to continue when appropriate.

When Alfred finished, Matthew glanced at the man beside them. "Al, it sounds like the men you found in the woods were fighting."

Alfred grinned. "I know, isn't it great?"

"Great? Al he probably killed Benjamin! We're housing a murderer!"

Al frowned. "I don't know, Mattie. We can't jump to conclusions until we know what happened. I mean, since we haven't seen him before we can assume he's either a traveler or a redcoat, like the one by the bar. The redcoat was killed first, so maybe it wasn't their fault?"

Matthew looked at the man again, biting his lip. "I don't know. What if he hurts us?"

Alfred laughed. "I'd like to see him try, in that state. Besides, helping people is what heroes do."

Matthew sighed and shook his head. "I hope you're right, but what about Uncle? He'd kill us if he knew this guy might be a redcoat."

"We'll just have to be on the lookout. He hardly ever comes up here, anyway. As long as we do well in the shop, he'll have no reason to think we're up to anything."

Against Alfred's hopes, Matthew kept frowning. "I- I don't know, Al. Maybe we should get a real doctor to look out for him."

"Do you really think the doctor would want to treat a redcoat? He'd probably poison him! We treat him, then we bring him back to wherever he came from. Simple. It'll be fine, Mattie. And if it's not, I'll take full responsibility. I won't let anything happen to you. "

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Please?"

Alfred playfully poked Matthew in the side. Finally, Matthew cracked a small smile. "Fine, just be careful."

* * *

The next morning, Alfred walked through town, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Matthew had convinced him that they needed to discover more about last night's situation before they decided exactly what to do about the man.

Alfred arrived at the spot where the redcoat had died the previous night. The body was gone, and people walked by as if nothing had occurred. The only evidence of the man's death was a stain of blood in the dirt where he lay.

As Alfred stared at the ground, all he could see was the blood. He saw the stillness of the man's chest as people crowded around him, nobody going near the body.

"Hey, keep moving, boy!"

And the body was gone.

Alfred found himself stumbling forward as a burly man shoved him from behind. He muttered an apology and kept walking, trying to get the images out of his head. 'You didn't even know him, why are you so worked up over his death?' He scolded himself.

Alfred entered the bar closest to where he had seen the body. Not many people were inside, as most worked during these morning hours, but Alfred hoped the bartender would have some explanation as to what became of the redcoat and Benjamin.

"Aren't you a little young to be in here?" A woman's voice asked, but the tone was friendly.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Chernenko." Alfred said moving towards the bar and seating himself on a stool.

"Did you hear of the news last night?" Mrs. Chernenko asked, sitting next to him with a glass in her hand that she had been cleaning. Alfred smiled. He knew he had come to the right place. Mrs. Chernenko always knew the gossip of the town, and she had a strange habit of knowing things that she shouldn't know about.

"No," Alfred lied. "What happened?"

"Maybe it's best that you don't know, dear."

"Please?" Alfred gave her his best puppy-dog eyes.

"Alright, just don't tell your brother. He's a bit more sensitive to these things than you are," Mrs. Chernenko chuckled. "Though I can't imagine why seeing how he's the one working in the apothecary."

"What happened?" Alfred prodded.

"Well, two redcoats entered the bar last night. I was surprised to see them, but they didn't look like they meant any harm, so I treated them as I would any guest," she hummed, still cleaning the glass. "When they left we heard a gunshot outside. I rushed out to see the big one had been shot right through the heart, poor dear. And the other one was bent over him."

Alfred nodded. _I know at least this much_ , he thought. _Can't you give me anything else?_

As if reading his mind, Mrs. Chernenko continued, "Well all the racket attracted quite the crowd. The smaller soldier was crying for help, but… well with your uncle I suppose you know how redcoats are viewed in our Madison."

"Did the smaller soldier have blond hair and green eyes?" Alfred asked. "And eyebrows that look like he stuck caterpillars to his forehead?" He added as an afterthought.

"Why yes, he did. I thought you hadn't heard what happened?"

Alfred widened his eyes, realizing his mistake. "Uh. I heard there was a man that looked like that, is all," he lied.

Mrs. Chernenko raised an eyebrow but continued with her story. "Well, when we looked a bit down the street, we saw Benjamin with a gun. The other soldier raced after him. None of us bothered to check on him. We were too unsure of what to do, I'm afraid. Benjamin needed help, but he attacked first and we feared repercussions from the reds," she sighed. "We found Benjamin's body this morning, but no trace of the other soldier."

"Was he wrong?" Alfred asked.

Mrs. Chernenko looked taken aback. "Sorry?"

"Was the redcoat wrong for killing Benjamin when he killed his friend first?" Alfred asked.

Mrs. Chernenko closed her eyes. "These are trying times, Alfred. A time of war, I'm afraid, and it has only just begun. Who was right really doesn't matter in the long-run. Two people are dead and this war will cause many more. I believe that killing is always wrong, Alfred, no matter the circumstances. But even if he was wrong, he was still a victim. All three were victims of this war." The woman sighed and her eyes grew blurry.

Alfred thought of the other British soldiers, whose camp was just miles away. "Will the redcoats come after us?" He asked.

"Of course not, dear. They were here earlier this morning to take the body. We told them of the events and they've decided since the perpetrator is dead, they really have no other business here, though I would guess the reason they didn't take action was because those soldiers weren't meant to be in town in the first place—-looks bad on their side. They mentioned that they were packing up their camp and leaving sooner than they planned because of the incident, so you have nothing to worry yourself over."

"But what about the other redcoat? The one that's missing?"

"I'm not sure, but if he's not back with his regiment, they'll probably declare him a deserter and go searching for him."

Alfred widened his eyes. "What happens to deserters?"

"I heard that in the British army they brand them with a 'D' the first time it's done."

Alfred tried to recall whether or not he had seen a 'D' on the redcoat's skin. He shook his head. He'd have to check when he got back home. "What if it's not the first time?"

"Then he'll most likely be executed."

Alfred's blood ran cold. Had he 'saved' someone's life just so they would be executed when they were found out? The boy rushed out of the bar, leaving a bewildered bartender staring after him.

* * *

Alfred charged into his room, the words of the bartender still echoing in his mind.

He dived at the British man who still lay in a pile of blankets. Alfred began pulling on the man's bloodied clothes, searching.

"Alfred! Stop!" He heard Matthew yelp, but paid him no heed.

 _Please don't be a deserter. Please don't be a deserter._

"Help me, Mattie. We need to check for—"

"He's awake, Al!"

Alfred froze.

"G' off of me you barmpot!"


	3. Hospitality

Ch. 3: Hospitality

* * *

 **AN: Just wanted to thank readers for favorites, follows, and reviews! You're all the best. :)**

* * *

 _Why am I stuck here with him by myself?_ Matthew thought as he tidied the blankets around the injured man.

 _Alfred, what were you thinking?_ He mused. _This was your idea and you leave me with him alone?_

Of course, Matthew knew that it was he who suggested Alfred's little 'information gathering' trip, but he hadn't considered that it would leave him behind with the redcoat.

Alone.

 _Stop thinking that way; Al will be back soon._

Matthew opened his medicine trunk, searching through the herbs and mixtures. He wasn't as experienced as the town doctor, but he had observed enough to know exactly the effects of each remedy. Though, Matthew wasn't sure how many of the medicines were effective, as they rarely showed results in the apothecary patients. Grasping a vial of Laudanum, which he had snatched from the apothecary for emergencies, Matthew hoped it would relieve the pain the man would assuredly feel when he awoke.

"Where am I?" a voice moaned.

Matthew jumped, almost dropping the vial in the process. He turned to see the British soldier attempting to rise.

"Um— d-don't." Matthew stuttered, rushing forward and gently pushing the man back down. "Y-you need rest."

Green eyes stared into Matthew's blue ones as the man seemed to consider what he was saying. He closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed. "No, please tell me it was all a dream," he muttered.

Not knowing what to say, Matthew remained silent.

"I suppose it can't have been a dream, though. I mean, my leg—-" The man let out a delirious laugh, causing Matthew to worry.

He buried his face into his hands. "Ludwig…" the soldier choked out.

"Sir?" Matthew asked cautiously.

The man slowly looked up, his eyes focusing on Matthew for the first time. "You're the boy, aren't you? The one from the woods."

Matthew shook his head. "No, that was my brother. He brought you here so that we could fix your leg." He gestured toward the man's bandaged thigh.

"Well it's good to know that there are some loyalists in this bloody town," the man said, mostly to himself.

Matthew cleared his throat. "Actually, I think almost everyone in this town hates British rule— my brother included."

The man gave him an odd stare. "Then, why…?"

Matthew shrugged. "You'll have to ask him when he gets back. But if you ask me, it's because he has this hero complex," he said quietly, but he thought knew the real reason. He remembered his brother's shaking voice as he had described the two corpses he had witnessed the night before.

"Hm," the man replied, turning his attention toward the ceiling.

Matthew didn't know what to do. He was afraid to really look at the man, but he also found himself being intrigued by him. Matthew wanted to know more, but was afraid of what he would find out. This man most likely already killed one of his neighbors. What would he do to him and Al once he had full reign of his body again? Matthew shuddered, almost dropping the vial for the second time that day.

"Th-this will help with the pain," he said, approaching the man. His voice was so soft, Matthew was afraid he hadn't heard him, but the man nodded as Matthew prepared the dosage in a cup.

The boy handed the man the measured-out liquid, and he quickly downed it before handing the cup back to Matthew.

The man returned his attention to the ceiling while Matthew carefully placed the vial in the chest.

"What's your name?" the man asked.

"M-Matthew."

"And your brother's? The one who brought me back here?"

"Alfred."

The man nodded, closing his eyes.

"And, uh," Matthew swallowed. "What's your name?"

"Arthur."

"Oh."

Matthew wasn't too hurt by Arthur's curt replies—-he was recovering from an injury, after all—-and he hoped the man would take this time to get some rest. Heaven knows it would be difficult to do so once Alfred, well-meaning as he was, arrived.

It was with this thought that Alfred barreled through the door and tackled Arthur.

* * *

While Alfred rambled on about checking for something—-Matthew had given up trying to decipher the meaning behind every rant Alfred initiated long ago—-Mattie tried to warn his brother, not that it did any good.

"G' off me you barmpot!"

Alfred backed away, rubbing the back of his neck. He offered the man a sheepish smile, one Matthew recognized from countless incidents in which his brother was in trouble.

"You're awake," Alfred said.

"No," Arthur replied. "As you can tell I'm still very much unconscious." He made a move to sit up, and Matthew rushed to help him, but the soldier was upright before Matthew could reach him.

 _I guess the pain reliever is kicking in_ , he thought.

Matthew stepped closer to his brother, but shrank back at Alfred's glare. "You could have warned me," Alfred said.

"I tried, Al," Matthew said, returning his glare.

The two remained still, their eyes locked. Alfred grinned when Matthew tore his eyes away first, and Matthew couldn't help but wonder why his brother always looked so pleased himself after winning such a trivial game.

"Al… " Arthur muttered. Matthew and Alfred both snapped their heads in the soldier's direction. The man's eyes widened. "Alfred?"

"That's me!"

"You're the one who found me."

Matthew had never seen his brother look so excited. The boy grinned toothily and was practically jumping up and down. "So you know, huh? You don't need to thank me; It's what heroes do after all."

Matthew sighed at his brother's antics. When he glanced over at Arthur, he expected the man to be annoyed, but what he saw was a ghost of a smile barely visible on the soldier's lips. Matthew grinned. This man didn't seem like the bad men their uncle had always talked about. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring him here after all.

 _But he's the one who killed Benjamin_ , Matthew reminded himself.

"Al, this is Arthur," Matthew said, trying to shut out his suspicions without being careless.

Thinking his brother had found out more of the situation in town, he tried to meet his brother's eyes, hoping that that twin telepathy everyone claimed they had would actually work. Alfred met his gaze, but Matthew didn't see any worry behind his brother's eyes. He hoped it was because there was really nothing to worry about, rather than simple carelessness on his brother's part.

"Well, I thank you boys for taking care of me in my time of distress, but I must return to my regiment. I need to inform them of… " Arthur's eyes clouded over.

Matthew was about to ask what was wrong, his mind temporarily blanking, but Alfred interrupted. "I'm afraid you just missed them."

Arthur's head shot up. "What?"

"They came to town earlier this morning and took the… " Alfred trailed off.

 _They took… he must be talking about the other redcoat_ ' Matthew thought. He glanced over at Arthur's pained expression, and a pang of sympathy welled in his chest. He almost felt bad for thinking accusatory thoughts about the soldier, but still, one of their own was dead, too.

"Anyway," Al continued. "They headed out after that."

"Didn't you tell them I was here?" Arthur asked, desperation evident in his voice.

Alfred shrugged. "They left before I found out what happened."

Arthur massaged his temples.

"So are you a deserter?" Alfred asked.

"Al, that's not very—-"

"What? Mrs. Chernenko told me that they might think he's a deserter since he hasn't been seen since the attack." Alfred shuffled his feet. "You're not, right? Mrs. Chernenko said they would k-kill you if this isn't the first time you've gone missing." He bit his lip, head down, but his eyes were still on Arthur. Curious, Matthew turned his attention to Arthur as well, hoping the two of them hadn't signed his death warrant by taking him in.

Arthur gave another small smile. "You two needn't worry about that; I've never been a deserter. I'll simply explain to my commanding officer the situation." His voice dropped. "Though I'm sure I'll be punished for leaving camp in the first place."

"I can tell them it was my fault you went missing," Alfred offered.

The British soldier gaped at the boy, then shook his head. "No, that's unnecessary. I'll have to catch up with them, but my leg… "

"Don't worry! Mattie will heal your leg and you'll be back with your group in no time," Alfred said, grinning.

Matthew elbowed him.

 _I don't know if I even patched him up properly. His life isn't in danger anymore, but I have no clue if it will heal correctly_ , he thought, rubbing his arm.

"We'll do our best," he said aloud.

Arthur sighed. "I suppose that's the best I can hope for, for now."

"Boys!"

Matthew jumped, clinging to Alfred's arm.

"If you want to continue under my roof, you'd better get to work!" A rough voice barked from downstairs.

Dread filled Matthew's stomach.

"Uh-oh," Alfred said lightly, as if making a joke.

 _How can he be so calm?_

"Looks like we've got to go help out in the shop. We'll be right back, Artie!"

"Arthur," the soldier corrected.

"That's what I said."

Matthew followed Alfred as he strode to the door. Before exiting the room, Matthew hesitated, and turned back to Arthur. "Don't make too much noise," he whispered, aware that the door was open. "Our uncle won't be happy if he knows you're here."

With that, Matthew closed the door, but he didn't miss the puzzled, yet concerned expression on Arthur's face.

* * *

"Hurry with that cleaning, boy. We got a customer coming in soon and I want you out of sight by then."

"Yes, sir," Matthew murmured, hastening to put the pistol back together.

 _Crash._

Matthew flinched. The sound had come from the far corner of the shop, where his brother had been organizing the muskets on display.

"Brat," Matthew heard his uncle mutter under his breath as the man approached Alfred.

Quickly returning the pistol to its assigned spot, Matthew ran after his uncle to see Alfred, surrounded by muskets littered across the floor.

"Sorry!" Alfred yelped, grabbing at each fallen musket and checking for damage. Matthew crouched down to help, but their uncle soon had each by the arm.

"Ruining my merchandise, I ought to—-"

A bell jingled from the shop door.

 _There couldn't have been better timing_ , Matthew thought, sighing in relief.

"Nevermind that," Uncle growled, giving each boy a harsh shove toward the stairs. "Just get out of my sight."

The two stumbled, Matthew regaining his balance, but Alfred falling flat on his face.

"Ow," Alfred muttered, rubbing his nose and glaring at their uncle, who now had his standard service smile plastered across his face as he greeted the customer.

"Let's go, Al," Matthew said, tugging on his brother's sleeve. He didn't need Alfred fighting with their uncle, especially with a customer around. The man wouldn't try anything out in the open, but Matthew knew just how cruel he could be away from the public eye. Uncle wasn't necessarily abusive—-save for when he had enough alcohol in him—-but Matthew thought it had more to do with laziness than lack of wanting to do so. Upon seeing Matthew's warning look, Alfred huffed, but led his brother up the steps.

"We're back, Artie!" Alfred blurted, swinging the door open as Matthew hushed him. "Lucky for you we got done early today, though we'll probably be called back down again later."

"Lucky me," Arthur replied, his voice dry.

"How is your wound, Arthur?" Matthew asked, peeking over Alfred's shoulder from the doorway.

"It's as well as one would expect, but thank you Matthew," Arthur said, his voice softening.

"Do you need me to change the bandage?"

"Not yet."

Matthew looked down. "Sorry I'm not a better help. I would have sewed the wound shut, but I think I'd just mess it up worse if I tried."

Arthur shook his head. "You don't need to worry about that, Matthew. You… " he paused, eyes sliding over to Alfred, "and your brother," he added, a bit more grudgingly, "saved my life. A trained doctor would have been ideal, but the circumstances do not allow for it. That is in no way your fault."

Matthew raised his eyes to Arthur's face, trying to determine if he was lying.

"We should have told someone else you were here. They would have been more help." Mattie said.

"And risk another one of your townspeople shooting me? You two made a logical decision keeping this to yourself. I'm not saying it was the correct one, or the safest one for that matter, but you thought you were doing what was best," Arthur said, his eyes focusing unwaveringly on the boys in front of him.

"See?" Alfred elbowed Mathew. "I told you this was the way to go."

Matthew opened his mouth, but immediately closed it, fiddling his fingers together.

"Is there something you would like to say?" Arthur asked.

"Is that why you killed Benjamin?" Matthew whispered, not meeting Arthur's eyes.

Arthur took in a sharp breath, loud enough to startle both boys. Alfred moved to stand between him and Matthew.

"That was… " Arthur closed his eyes. "Please don't be afraid of me, Matthew. I have no plans to hurt you or your brother, even if I could," he said.

"But you're a redcoat," Matthew blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth. Alfred's wide eyes danced between the two, his shoulders tense.

"We may not be on the same side of this war, but neither of us are on a battlefield," Arthur said. "That man… Benjamin, you said his name was?"

Matthew nodded.

"He killed my friend." Matthew didn't miss Alfred flinch at the statement. "It was stupid of me to do so, I should have returned to my regiment and faced whatever consequences lay in wait for me, but I ran after him. We struggled, but the final blow was done to himself," Arthur said.

"You're not lying?"

"No."

"Alright."

Arthur closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling—-a habit the boys were beginning to expect. Matthew sat down across the room from Arthur, staring out the window with his chin in his hands. Alfred settled between them, amusing himself with a solo game of spillikins.

"Earlier," Arthur began, breaking the silence. "I heard a crash… and shouting."

"Oh, I just dropped some of Uncle's guns and he got mad at me," Alfred piped up, a smile on his face.

"Guns?"

"Oh, right! You were unconscious when we dragged you up here," Alfred said. Arthur rolled his eyes whilst Matthew facepalmed at Alfred's tactlessness. "Our uncle's a gunsmith and we live right above his shop."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, sinking back into silence.

Matthew returned his attention to the window, but kept Arthur in view from the corner of his eye. _I want you to heal, and I'm not sure why, but I believe everything you've told us_ , he thought. _But that doesn't mean I have to trust you_.


	4. Brothers

Ch. 4: Brothers

The silence of the day ended in more silence. As the sun sank behind the trees surrounding the town, Arthur's stomach gnawed at him. The boys had offered him food several times, but the soldier wouldn't take it; the last twenty-four hours had simply been too painful.

 _Ludwig—-I'm sorry, I'm so terribly sorry_ , Arthur thought, curling into himself. He had only known the German a few short months, but those had been enough for him to know that the man was thoughtful and honorable, even if he seemed severe on the outside.

 _He did not deserve to die._

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur replied, not opening his eyes.

"Mattie and I are going to bed. You should get some sleep, too."

"What did you think I was doing?" Arthur snapped, opening his eyes.

"Not sleeping. You looked upset," Alfred said, surprising Arthur with the concern in his voice.

"Fine, go ahead and sleep. I promise I will in a moment."

Alfred nodded and lay on the floor, shivering slightly from the draft that creeped its way through the holes in the roof. _Why on earth is he sleeping on the—-_

Arthur allowed himself to study the room he was in for the first time that day. There was no bed—-no furniture at all. All that filled the room was dusty boxes, and to Arthur's growing horror, he appeared to be under the only blanket in the attic.

"Boys, use this. I don't need it."

Alfred only laughed. "Yes you do. Mattie said it's dangerous for you to get sick right now, so you need to stay warm."

Arthur didn't reply, but watched pensively as Alfred closed his eyes and began to snore lightly.

"Aren't you going to sleep, as well?" Arthur asked Matthew, who sat staring at him from the corner.

"N-not tired," Matthew said, though his eyes drooped.

"That's not how it looks to me."

"Then you need to get your eyes checked," Matthew gasped as the words slipped out, he slapped a hand over his mouth and gazed at Arthur, eyes wide.

Arthur laughed, hoping to lessen the boy's unease. "And I always thought your brother was the snarky one."

"You've only known us for a day," Matthew said quietly.

"Yet he does come off as the more brazen brother."

"He's just… more trusting than I am."

"I take it you don't trust me, then?"

"Like I said before, we just met you." Matthew narrowed his eyes.

It dawned on Arthur that there was more to this than them not knowing each other long. It could be because of the war, but Arthur couldn't imagine the boy attending to his injuries if he felt the same resentment towards British soldiers that most of the town seemed to feel. He thought that the boy may have been close to the dead colonial, but he didn't seem too distraught over the issue. Though there were many reasons that Matthew shouldn't trust Arthur, his intuition told him the boy's reasonings masked something deeper.

"I've told you I wasn't the one who killed that man," Arthur prodded, hoping to bring more light to the boy's thoughts.

"Yeah 'cause he got to it first."

"I don't claim I didn't want to kill him after… what he did, but I think you ought to give me some credit for not dealing the final blow."

"It's just… Uncle said never to trust redcoats."

"Look Matthew, I'm sure your uncle is a wise man—-"

Matthew scoffed, causing Arthur to raise an eyebrow. _Perhaps I'm not the only one he distrusts._

"Is there something you want to—-"

Matthew shook his head. "I'm sorry… I just…"

"I know you have no reason to trust me, Matthew, but you need to rest. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I won't harm you or your brother. I'm in you boys' debt, if I'm being honest with myself."

Matthew eyed him warily, but got up and approached his sleeping brother. When he lay down, Arthur rolled his eyes at how purposefully the boy formed a barrier between himself and Alfred.

Now that he thought about it, the other twin seemed far more carefree than Matthew. _Perhaps he's compensating for Alfred's blitheness._

Deciding he may be overthinking the issue, Arthur lay down, his heart feeling heavier as he wrapped himself in the lone blanket. He had many regrets that day, and he found it odd how not seeing the reserved twin smile even once was one of them. As he drifted off to sleep, thoughts of a living Ludwig and smiling twins brought a bitter smile to his face.

* * *

Arthur awoke to the sound of sobbing. Groggily, he lifted his head and squinted through the darkness.

"Shhh. It's okay. It's alright."

Alfred's head was pressed into Matthew's chest as the latter rocked him back and forth. Arthur tried to stand up, but fell with a grunt as his leg crumbled beneath him. Gritting his teeth, he settled for an awkward crawl and made his way toward the twins.

"What's wrong?" he asked, scanning both the boys for a problem.

Matthew pointedly ignored him and kept whispering words of comfort to his brother. "It's going to be alright, Al. I promise it will, but you need to be more quiet." He begged, glancing nervously at the door.

"What's wrong, boy? Speak up, we can't help you if we don't know the problem." Arthur said softly, resting a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"I keep se-seeing th-them," Alfred choked out between sobs.

"Them?" Arthur prodded.

"Benjamin and the r-redcoat."

Arthur stared as the boy continued to sob.

"Matthew, will you please?"

Matthew shook is head vigorously.

"Now, Matthew," Arthur said more sternly.

The boy scooted back from his brother. Now that Arthur could see his face better, he could see unshed tears brimming his eyes as he watched his brother cry.

"I don't know what to do," Matthew whispered.

Hesitantly, Arthur wrapped an arm around Alfred's shoulder. "You saw them, then?"

Alfred nodded, his body shaking harder. Arthur flinched when the boy threw himself against him, wrapping his arm around his waist, but he soon found himself returning the boy's hold.

"I thought I could handle it. I'm supposed to be the he-hero, but when I went to sleep all I could see was them and all the b-blood."

Arthur rubbed circles into Alfred's back, waiting for him to calm down. When his sobs subsided into sniffles, he pushed the boy back so that their eyes would meet.

"It's scary, I know. You were very heroic, Alfred, but that doesn't mean you aren't affected by those horrible tragedies. It's alright for you to be upset by them. I… " Arthur's throat tightened. "I knew one of those men, and I see his face every time I close my eyes."

"I wish it would go away," Alfred sniffled.

"I wish it would, too, but we can't unsee something once we've put it in our minds."

"I was afraid you were going to die, too."

Arthur froze. Had this boy really been so concerned about his well-being? He had saved his life, for certain, but he had only just met the boy and his concern for him sounded more genuine than that from anyone Arthur had known. _If only more people thought the way this boy does, the world would be a better place._

"As you can see, I am alive and well… relatively speaking."

Alfred yawned, wiping the tears from his face.

"You had better get back to sleep," Arthur said. "But if you need to talk, I'm here."

Without looking, Arthur could feel the stare from the other twin boring into his head.

"Can we sleep next to you?" Alfred asked, not meeting his eyes.

Taken aback, Arthur didn't respond for a moment, but he eventually managed a nod. He lay down on his back, cringing as he shifted his leg.

"You shouldn't have moved around like that with your injury," Matthew whispered.

"I'm quite aware," Arthur replied. He hadn't noticed the pain the movement from earlier had caused him until now, but now that he did, he struggled to ignore it. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Alfred snuggled up next to him.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Alfred said from his side.

"As am I."

Another body snuggled against his other arm. Arthur's mind went blank. Hadn't this boy interrogated him only hours earlier? Didn't he say to his face that he didn't trust him?

"Why—-"

"You helped him when I couldn't," Matthew said, as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world.

Arthur glanced back and forth between the almost-identical boys, smiling when he found them both sleeping peacefully.

Moving cautiously as to not awaken them, he stretched the blanket over the three of them—-though neither appeared as cold as they had earlier.

As Arthur closed his eyes, he almost forgot about the pain in his leg.

* * *

It had been three weeks since Arthur had first entered the town of Madison, and in those few weeks, he had been training himself to walk again. Progress was slow-going, but it was progress nonetheless. He could now walk across the entire length of the room without pausing to rest, but his limp impeded any further efforts. It frustrated Arthur to no end that no matter how hard he tried to grit his way through the pain, his leg simply would not cooperate. Matthew had informed him that with some injuries, it was a long process to return to functioning normally, even once the pain had stopped. He only hoped that soon he would be healed enough to make the journey back to his regiment, wherever they may be.

The longer he waited in this attic, the more afraid Arthur was of being caught. Indeed, it surprised him that he had not been caught by the owner of the home already. In all the weeks Arthur had spent with the boys, this 'Uncle' he had heard so much yet so little about had not visited the attic once, and though he had never met the man, Arthur found himself loathing him. During consultations with customers, all was quiet, but during the early morning and late evenings, the sound of angry shouting, from whom Arthur could only assume was 'Uncle', echoed mercilessly through the shop and into the attic.

Whenever the boys returned from one of these sessions, Arthur would search for any sign of discomfort or injury, but despite the occasional bruise, the twins returned with a nonchalance that almost always worried the soldier. Arthur never asked them about it, but the more frequently it occurred, the more he wished he could do something. _Blast this leg. If I were in fit condition I would—-_

But Arthur did not know what he would do. The boys' weren't his own. He was a foreigner—-a refugee—-and had no right to interfere with the lives of strangers.

Whenever bitter thoughts of futility entered his mind, those words were what Arthur would tell himself—-that it was none of his concern. And he found it quite easy to think this way when the boys appeared perfectly content with their situation.

"Arthur?" Alfred's voice sounded uncomfortably close to his face.

"What is is it, Alfred? And get out of my face, will you?" Arthur snapped.

Alfred complied, though his happy-go-lucky expression was undeterred. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Nothing." Arthur sighed, trying to tear his eyes away from a new bruise on Alfred's cheek.

"You're so weird sometimes." Alfred hopped away towards his brother, who was emptying a bag of leftovers from lunch he had snagged for Arthur. Alfred grabbed Matthew's hand, the latter protesting softly but allowing himself to be dragged away once the bread had reached Arthur.

"Mattie and I are going out to explore. We'll be back later, Okay?"

Arthur nodded. "Be careful."

"We will!" They said simultaneously, practically running out the door.

Arthur rubbed his temples. _Those boys are going to be the death of me._

* * *

Arthur had grown accustomed to the shouting, so it wasn't that that had awoken him. What had was the distinct lack of two boys asleep on either side of him.

"Alfred? Matthew?" Arthur whispered into the dark, despite knowing exactly where they were. He couldn't make out the words, but the twins' uncle shouted loud enough to shake the floorboards. _What are those two idiots doing out this late?_ he thought.

The soldier was about to close his eyes, when a cry nearly stopped his heart. In all the time he spent up there, he had never heard the boys make a sound during their uncle's outbursts. He dragged himself up, ignoring the searing pain in his leg as he did so. Reaching the door, he yanked it open and stepped out onto the staircase.

"Let him go!"

The voices were clearer now.

Alfred yelped and Arthur thought he could make out Matthew's sobbing.

"Why can't ya brats eva' do as you're told?" The man's words slurred together/

"It was an accident!"

Arthur grasped tightly onto the railing and leaned forward over the steep steps.

Another yelp and a crash from downstairs stopped his breath. Images of a stern, blond-haired man lying cold and bloodied on the ground flashed through Arthur's mind. _No._ He shook his head. _It's no use to dwell on the past. You have two_ living _boys in trouble right now._

He took the first step.

"Agh!" Arthur's leg buckled beneath him—-his grip on the railing the only thing keeping him from tumbling down the stairs.

At the top of the steps he sat, making several attempts to get up, but each time falling back down.

 _Not now, blast it!_ He pounded his fist into his leg, ignoring the sharp agony ripping through it. _You were working fine just moments ago! Get up!_ Arthur screamed inside his head, but his attempts at movement were to no avail.

"Now ge' out of my sight! I should have just left ya boys on the street!"

The pitter of light footsteps ascended the stairs.

Arthur snapped out of his misery when two heads appeared below him, but his relief didn't last long. Every inch of the boys' exposed skin was covered in bruises. Matthew limped slightly coming up the stairs, and Alfred's lip was busted. When they saw Arthur, they're eyes widened, but neither said a word as they rushed towards him. Each placed one of his arms over their shoulders. With one last glance behind them, they struggled to lift Arthur to his feet and return to the attic.

They set him gently against the wall near the window, both casting him worried looks. They sat in front of him, Alfred gaping like a fish and Matthew twiddling his fingers together.

"Are you okay?" Alfred finally asked.

 _Me? I wasn't the one beaten within an inch of my life!_

It was then that Arthur realized tears had been streaming down his face. Burying his face in his hands, he muttered incoherent apologies under his breath.

"Ar-Arthur?" Matthew stuttered.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything! I'm so sorry, I should have—-"

A hand gripped his shoulder, and Arthur lifted his head from his hands. Alfred and Matthew set their gazes unwaveringly at him, their expressions serious. Arthur couldn't help but think of how much they seemed to age in that moment.

"You should have nothing." Matthew said sternly. "If he caught you up here, what would we have done? He would have beaten us more and turned you over to the other townspeople—-or worse yet, he would have just shot you here. What were you thinking?"

"I don't know!" Arthur exclaimed, then realizing where he was, lowered his voice. "I wasn't thinking clearly. You two weren't here when I woke up and the next thing I know you're crying from downstairs. What was I supposed to do?"

"Not act so reckless and childish," Alfred said.

Arthur laughed in disbelief. "You're one to talk. Aren't you the one who brought me up here because you had to be the hero?"

"It's over now; don't fight," Matthew whispered.

Noticing the tears brimming in both twins eyes, Arthur took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I was just… worried."

Arthur noticed identical expressions reach both twin's faces, but he couldn't identify what it was. Swallowing, he continued, "Why were you two down there in the first place?"

Alfred and Matthew glanced at each other.

Matthew spoke first. "We heard him coming up the stairs, so we went out to keep him from coming in. It would have been fine, but… "

"He was really drunk," Alfred chimed in.

"We usually stay up here when he's drinking that much, but we couldn't let him find you. Especially when he was like that."

"But when we led him back downstairs, I knocked over another display case of his," Alfred said guiltily.

The boy bit his lip before once again bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry Mattie, if I hadn't done that… "

Matthew wrapped his arms around his brother. He didn't speak, but that action alone seemed to calm Alfred down.

Arthur cleared his throat. "If you boys don't mind me asking, why do you live with him? Where are your parents."

"Well they're obviously not here," Alfred said, almost playfully, trying to smile through his tears.

"Our parents passed away in a fire a couple years ago," Matthew said, giving his brother a warning look. "Uncle took us in after that."

"There's no way he's actually our uncle, though!" Alfred said. "I mean, our parents never mentioned him, or anything. I think he just said he was so he could get some free labor in his shop."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "He is our uncle, Al. Mother did mention him once, though not very fondly. Though I don't deny that there's truth to the last part you said."

"Come with me."

All three widened their eyes at the statement.

 _I can't believe I'm saying this._

"What?" Matthew and Alfred asked in unison.

"When I'm well enough to leave, come with me. I'm sure I can make arrangements with the corporal to send you back to London. I have an estate there; you'd both be happy."

"Really?" Alfred lept forward and out of Matthew's arms. "You'd really let us live with you?"

"Yes, I'm serving right now, and I'll still have to explain my absence to my superiors, but we'll work it out. And either way it'll be better than what you're dealing with here."

 _Arthur, that would be kidnapping,_ the soldier's voice of reason said, yet he didn't take back his offer.

"Alfred, we can't just leave. Uncle's our legal guardian and Arthur's in enough trouble as it is."

"Oh, right."

Arthur didn't miss the regret in Matthew's voice and the disappointment in Alfred's. Though he didn't press the issue further, he had made up his mind. Whatever it takes, he would get these boys out of this house. They had saved his life, and it was about time he returned the favor.


	5. Discovery

Ch. 5: Discovery

* * *

Alfred was not one to mind work, and though he would rather be playing with Matthew outside, he enjoyed being kept busy. It made him feel grown-up. Now that Arthur was staying with them, he felt even more responsible by keeping their new friend a secret. He couldn't really say he understood the implications of their secret; he knew a little about the war and understood its seriousness, but he didn't understand the hatred it caused people to feel, especially since he's met Arthur. Uncle was a patriot. He was on the "right" side, Alfred has been told. Arthur was a redcoat, but Alfred could never see Arthur hurting them the way Uncle did.

"Welcome back," Alfred greeted as Matthew entered the door. Uncle was out running errands, and Matthew had taken the opportunity to drop by the apothecary.

"How is the work going?" Matthew asked, yawning.

"I'm actually almost done, so why don't you get some rest?" Alfred suggested.

"It's alright, I'll help you finish up." Mattie said.

Alfred shook his head, stubbornly. "No way, go check on Artie," he ordered. In truth, he was worried about his brother. He knew Matthew must have been exhausted from working for both Uncle and the apothecary, and if Alfred's bruises from a few days ago still ached, he was sure Mattie's did, too.

Matthew relented, but before he headed up the stairs, he turned around. "Fine, but we're paying jackstraws when you're done."

Alfred laughed. He knew that Mattie didn't particularly care for jackstraws, but his brother knew it was Alfred's favorite indoor game.

"If you can convince Arthur to play, too," Alfred said.

* * *

By the time Alfred finished his chores, Matthew had somehow convinced Arthur to join in on their game.

"No way!" Alfred gasped when he saw Arthur and Mattie sitting upright with his hand-dyed sticks on the floor. "You actually got him to play?"

"I'm not completely boring, Alfred," Arthur smirked, "Besides, I remember playing these sorts of games; it wasn't that long ago that I was you boys' age."

"Yeah, sure," Alfred replied, sitting down.

"He's not that old, Al," Matthew chuckled.

"Maybe not, but he sure acts ancient."

"I don't have to play with you, you know," Arthur huffed, pushing against the floor as if to get up

"I didn't mean it!" Alfred yelped, grabbing Arthur's sleeve. Arthur laughed easily.

"Then maybe you should think twice before calling someone old," he said, leaning forward to tickle Alfred's side. The boy giggled and began setting up the game.

"I'll at least beat you, Artie. The hero always wins!"

"Of course," Arthur replied lightly.

The three played pick-up-sticks with an almost vicious competitiveness, and much to Alfred's chagrin, Matthew ended the game with nearly double that of his pile. _At least I beat Artie._ Alfred thought, smirking at the man.

As if reading his mind, Arthur said, "Don't be so smug, Alfred. This is my first time playing this for a while, and you're pile is nothing to brag about."

"Maybe not, but I'll beat you next time, Mattie!" Alfred laughed, poking his brother in the stomach.

"We'll see about that," Matthew replied with a small smile, swiping Alfred's hand away.

Alfred noticed that Arthur was smiling, too, and his own grew seeing his two favorite people so happy.

"What's going on in here?" a gruff voice asked.

Alfred froze, eyes wide. Beside him, Matthew's breath hitch and Arthur tensed up.

Uncle stood in the doorway, swaying slightly with blazing eyes and a bottle in his hand.

"I'm going to ask one more time," he said, his words slurring. "Who is this man in my house."

"He's—-" Alfred squeaked out, but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur stood, a bit unsteadily, but he made sure to hide any pain he felt from reaching his face. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," Arthur began, trying not to flinch under the man's dangerous gaze. Alfred and Matthew held tightly to the back of his shirt, and their reliance on him caused the man to hold his head higher. "But I was injured and came here seeking refuge. I'm the one that requested the boys hide me, so I take full responsibility for entering your home without permission." The lie rolled easily from Arthur's tongue, though he doubted it would alleviate any blame the drunkard would place on the boys.

When Uncle didn't immediately respond, Alfred grasped tighter to Arthur's shirt. His mind was completely blank, but he didn't want anything bad to happen to Arthur.

"Actually—-"

"You're that deserting redcoat that killed that boy," Uncle cut Alfred off. Alfred followed his uncle's line of sight to Arthur's coat, which had been tossed in the corner when Matthew had begun to treat Arthur's injuries.

"I am," Arthur said.

"You—-" Uncle charged, not even bothering to come up with further insult.

Arthur pushed the boys out of harm's way and dodged as Uncle brought down the beer bottle. Not meeting his target, the man stumbled forward, taking a moment to rectify himself.

"Arthur!" Alfred shouted. Matthew has begun to sob quietly next to him, and Alfred prepared himself to join the fight. _I'm not letting him hurt Arthur or us ever again,_ the boy thought, scowling at Uncle.

Before he could attack, Alfred was grabbed roughly by the arm, "You two need to get downstairs, now," Arthur told him, hurriedly.

"But—-"

"You treasonous brats!" Uncle shouted, still having trouble regaining his footing. "I'll kill you!"

"Let's go, Al," Matthew said, tears still in his eyes. The younger twin grabbed Alfred's hand and pulled him toward the door.

"But, Arthur!"

"I'll meet you two down there," Arthur said, facing Uncle just as the man charged for the second time.

Matthew dragged a still hesitant Alfred, grabbing their small chest of medicine on their way out. As they raced down the stairs, they heard a crash from the attic, followed by footsteps behind them. Both boys held their breath, but let out a sigh of relief when they saw Arthur running toward them.

Noticing Arthur's limp, Alfred and Matthew took to either side of him and helped the man down the stairs.

"Uncle?" Matthew asked as they reached the door of the shop.

"He's drunk, so he won't be able to catch up to us, but I doubt we have long before he alerts the town," Arthur replied, struggling to fight through the pain in his leg.

"Where are we heading?" Alfred asked. The sun had just begun to set as they weaved through the street. He heard shouting behind them. Turning back, he saw the light of lanterns being lit in the distance.

"Arthur's troops are somewhere North of here," Matthew whispered.

"We don't have time to worry about that now, just head into the forest," Arthur said, gritting his teeth.

Alfred glanced up at Arthur's pained expression and then back behind them. The lights were getting closer. He felt a new wave of panic as he imagined Arthur getting arrested as a prisoner of war.

"We'll be alright," Arthur said, and both boys nodded in response.

Shouts of the townspeople drew nearer, and the three finally made their way into the forest. No matter how much distance they covered, the voices behind them just seemed to get louder.

"They're going to catch up," Matthew whispered, and Alfred didn't like being pessimistic, but he had to agree with his brother.

"This way!" A voice shouted behind them.

"Over there," Arthur whispered, nodding his head toward some shrubbery. "We'll hide there then backtrack when they move past us."

The three made their way to the bushes, ducking behind them. Alfred tried to ignore the poking as the bushes scratched his skin. They had only just hidden themselves when a group of four men with torches passed by.

"Can't believe that redcoat was in Madison the entire time," one grumbled.

"I can't believe he kidnapped a couple of kids," another replied.

Arthur, Alfred, and Matthew held their breath when the first man halted and looked around.

"You see their trail?" one asked.

"No, it stops here."

"Well, we can't waste time, who knows how much of a head start they got. Jonathan's worried sick about them."

Alfred scoffed at that one.

The four continued on, and the three in the bushes remained quiet for several minutes to make sure they were safe.

"I think we can go now," Alfred said, tugging on Arthur's sleeve, but the man remained still.

"Arthur?"

"Maybe you two should go back," Arthur whispered.

"No! You promised you would help us," Alfred replied, while Matthew nodded in agreement.

"I'm in no condition to take care of you two at the moment. We have nowhere to go and I have no means to feed or give shelter to either of you."

"But we'd rather stay with you than go back to Uncle," Matthew said quietly. "Who knows what he'd do to us now that he knows we helped you."

Arthur visibly shivered at the thought. Shaking his head, he muttered, "You're right, I just wish… " Arthur sighed. "We'll focus on getting out of here, first. Then, I swear I will do whatever it takes to provide for you two."

Alfred grinned. "There's the Artie we know and love. Now let's get out of here before they come back."

The three stood, albeit a bit unsteadily. They made their way toward the road headed North, but didn't dare to walk out in the open, keeping to the edge of the forest along the side of the path.

After walking for about an hour, Matthew stopped the group.

"We need to keep moving, Matthew," Arthur said.

"Take this for the pain," Mattie said, pulling out a small bottle from his box.

Arthur looked like he was about to argue, but Matthew gave him the stern expression he reserved only for the times he would not relent. "Alright," the man said, while Alfred chuckled. It was nice not to be on the receiving end of his brother's stare for once. Arthur took a swig of the medicine and returned it to the boy's box. Closing the lid, he gripped the chest in one hand and made to continue walking. When Matthew simply stared, Arthur explained, "I'll carry it. You two have enough to worry about without extra luggage. Besides, you're both already helping to support me."

Matthew frowned, but he didn't argue and allowed Arthur to place an arm around his shoulder for support. Once they had traveled several miles of uneven terrain, the three felt it was safe to continue their journey on the road. Not a single carriage had passed them thus far, but Alfred supposed this was to be expected, as few traversed these roads at night.

Alfred's feet ached and his eyes felt heavy. He wondered how far they would have to go before they could stop to rest. Even more frustrating, their pace was far slower than Alfred would have liked. It was necessary, due to Arthur's limp, but they were still miles from the nearest town.

* * *

"Just a few more miles until we reach Kingstown, right Matthew?" Arthur asked.

Matthew nodded absentmindedly.

"Alright boys, just hold tight for another hour or so. Do you think you'll be alright until then?"

Both nodded again.

Luckily, they didn't have to wait another hour before they could rest. As the three continued, a roadside inn could be made out in the distance. They hurried toward the building, which appeared even farther with their current fatigue, but soon found themselves at shelter's door.

A bell rang as they stepped inside the inn, and the warmth was welcoming. There was no one at the desk at this time of night, but having heard the bell, a man walked out of a backroom in a nightshirt.

"Sorry, we don't accept travelers this late at night," the man said, yawning.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late, sir, but please allow us to stay. We've been traveling all night, you see," Arthur replied desperately, motioning to the boys who could barely keep their eyes open.

The man eyed them, taking in their ragged state. Eyes softening, he responded, "I don't suppose you can afford a room."

"I have some herbs," Matthew said, holding up his box. "Can we trade?"

The man kept quiet for a moment, thinking it over, before shaking his head.

"Keep your herbs," he said, "Your room is upstairs at the end of the hall to the right." He tossed them a key. "Just be sure not to tell any of the customers about this, you hear?"

"Thank you very kindly, sir." Arthur said, motioning the boys toward the stairs.

When they reached the room, both boys collapsed on one bed, leaving Arthur the other. _This must be what it feel like to sleep on a cloud,_ Alfred thought before he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing! I appreciate the constructive criticism I received. Apologies for not updating frequently. I have the entire story mapped out but don't know how often I will get to updating. Thanks again for reading!**


	6. Flight

Ch. 6: Flight

* * *

Matthew woke with a start, for a moment forgetting where he was. Glancing toward Alfred, he smiled at how content his twin looked. The brothers hadn't slept in a bed since their parents had passed, and Matthew had almost forgotten the comfort of the luxury. He observed the room around him. It was small, but well-kept. Light poured through a window, illuminating the room far more than what the tiny window in the attic had. Noticing Arthur wasn't anywhere to be seen, an uneasy feeling crept into Matthew's stomach. Giving a final glance at Alfred, Matthew quietly got out of the bed and left the room.

Matthew wandered down the stairs of the inn, in search of Arthur. Though there weren't many people on the ground floor, the chatter and laughter was loud enough to unsettle him. He moved past people, unnoticed, until he came upon Arthur speaking with the innkeeper in the corner. Relief flooded into him as he rushed toward the two.

Arthur smiled at Matthew as he approached. "I have good news, my boy," he said, holding up a cloth sack. "This charitable man has offered us some food and drink, as well as clean clothes for our journey."

The innkeeper replied grunted before walking away.

"Not too talkative, though," Arthur added.

Matthew was about to reply when a force barreled into the two, nearly sending them both to the floor.

"Alfred, be careful," Arthur said, motioning toward his leg.

"Sorry," said twin replied, stepping back. "I couldn't find you two." Alfred's cheeks were tinted red and his breathing was a bit frantic.

Matthew stared at his brother, guiltily. "Sorry I should have waked you before leaving you by yourself."

Alfred grinned, "It's fine. It wasn't like I was worried, or anything."

 _You're an awful liar_ , Matthew thought, but simply returned his brother's smile.

"You boys had better get changed into more suitable clothes," Arthur said, gesturing toward the boy's dirt-covered plainclothes. "Then we'll be on our way."

"Already?" Both boys whined at once.

"I need to explain the situation to my superiors as soon as possible," Arthur replied, but Matthew detected a hint of regret in his voice. He assumed Arthur would miss the warm bed just as much as he would, and the floor couldn't be too comfortable on his leg, either. "We'll see if we can get directions in Kingstown," he continued. "There should be some British soldiers there that will direct me to where my troops are based."

"What will happen to us when you go back?" Matthew asked.

"Of course I will ask for leave—-can't do much fighting with this injury, now—-and hopefully I'll bring you two back with me to London."

"Will that really work?" Alfred piped up.

"It doesn't sound like a foolproof plan," Matthew added.

"Well, we don't have many options, and I refuse to just send you back to live with that man. I'm confident that the corporal will back me," Arthur said, but added in a slightly darker tone, "I'm not sure about the other officers, but, as long as we can get straight to him, it should be fine." He handed the boys each a fresh pile of clothing. "Now go get changed."

The boys didn't move, offering Arthur an apprehensive look. "I'm sure it will be fine," he repeated. "Off you go."

 _You don't sound so sure_ , Matthew thought, but he hoped he was just being overly cautious. He followed his brother back upstairs.

"That was unusually optimistic for Artie, don't you think?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah," Matthew agreed.

* * *

The trek to Kingstown was relatively short, especially compared to the hours they spent fleeing Madison in the middle of the night. Matthew made sure to check on Arthur's leg in intervals, despite the external damage being mostly healed. Arthur would refuse medicine for the pain, saying it didn't hurt, but Matthew didn't miss the winces Arthur gave away as they walked, and both twins refused to keep going until he took proper care of himself.

Upon reaching the town, Arthur began asking around the tavern for news about his squad.

"Why are we asking these people? They're not going to know anything," Alfred commented after they had exhausted two taverns' guests and proceeded to the next.

"You'd be surprised how much these people know," Arthur said.

"That's not really an answer," Alfred complained, turning a questioning look toward his brother.

Matthew had his own ideas as to why Arthur was sticking to the tavern, but didn't have any plans of voicing these. He assumed his brother had guessed his thoughts though, as he found himself face-to-face with Al's protruding lower lip and wide eyes.

"Don't pout, Al."

Alfred didn't relent.

With a sigh, Matthew gave in. "He probably doesn't want to ask where anyone will recognize him, or remember him after he's asked them questions." Matthew glanced toward Arthur, as if asking if he was correct.

Arthur smiled. "Exactly, Matthew. We can't have me getting arrested before I appeal to the colonel, now, can we? Very astute."

Matthew felt a bit of pride glow inside him at Arthur's praise.

"I guess that makes sense," Alfred relented.

"Have you heard the news from Madison?"

Arthur grabbed each boy by the hand and dragged them out of sight, hushing them as he leaned forward to listen. Two common people walked down the street talking in loud whispers.

"Apparently two boys were kidnapped by a British soldier," one man said.

"Those lobsters are taking things too far," another said angrily.

"Sh. Don't let them hear you say that. Remember where we are," the first man scolded, glancing around nervously.

"Now, now. Don't be blaming us for this unfortunate situation."

The two jumped as a small group of soldiers in red approached from behind them, seemingly out of nowhere.

"If the kidnapper was a soldier, he sure isn't anymore," one said, a hint of disgust in his voice.

"Probably a deserter," another added.

"Some kid from my own squad fled around the same area. What are you willing to bet it was him?"

Arthur sighed deeply.

"What's wrong, Artie?" Alfred whispered, a bit too loudly for Arthur's liking, but luckily, the group ahead of them didn't appear to have heard.

"It's nothing, Alfred. This whole situation is simply doing wonders for my reputation."

"What's a reputation?" Alfred asked, earning an eyeroll from Matthew, but Arthur had already returned his attention to the group before them.

One colonist nodded vigorously along with the soldiers, while the other glared at the men before them. The former elbowed his stubborn friend, but was to no avail.

A younger soldier raised an eyebrow at the blatant obstinance, and opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by an older soldier. Instead, the latter said. "Well, a good day to the both of you Sirs."

The other soldiers bade them goodbye as well, a few a bit more reluctant than the rest.

The colonists watched them pass, one a bit relieved while the other kept a resistant scowl.

"And you, as well!"

"Good riddance."

The soldiers walked toward the hiding spot of the trio, and Arthur motioned the boys backwards.

"Hurry along," he said, leading them down an alleyway and toward another street. Arthur was so busy looking behind them, he didn't notice the person in their path until it was too late.

"Arthur look—-"

They crashed.

"Bloody—-" Arthur cut himself off and tried to prevent the boys from falling while attempting to right himself in the process. "Excuse me, Sir… "

Arthur froze.

Matthew glanced at his twin, then back to their guardian. "Arthur?" he asked, his voice quivering.

"What a lovely surprise, meeting mon ami in the Americas."

Arthur said nothing, only glaring at the blond Frenchman before them. This only succeeded in making Matthew more nervous. Who was this man?

Alfred must have sensed the seriousness of the situation as well, as he practically shouted, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Alfred, not so loud," Arthur muttered.

"I mean no harm," the man said holding up his arms in surrender. "I merely heard that a stranger to this town was searching for his squad and thought I could be of some assistance. I wasn't aware I would run into an old friend. How have you been, Arthur?"

"So much for your plan meaning no one would recognize or remember you, huh, Artie?"

"Not helping, Alfred."

"Alfred? That is a nice name, and yours is?" the man asked.

Alfred moved defensively in front of his brother. "You first."

"C'est pas possible, Arthur. You've turned the children against me already." the man took a step closer, offering an outstretched hand. "I am Francis Bonnefoy. It is a pleasure to meet you Alfred and… ?"

"Matthew," Mattie said, accepting the hand when Arthur didn't make a move to stop the act, and Alfred followed suit.

"Mathieu, that is also a lovely name."

"Hey, Artie. He seems nice, why do you look like he kicked your puppy?" Alfred asked.

"It's a long story, Alfred. I'm afraid we don't have time to chat at the moment; we had better move on."

"But you needed help, did you not?"

Arthur huffed. "We need nothing of the sort."

"But Arthur, we do need—-"

"We don't," Arthur said with finality, walking around Francis.

"I'm not stupide, Arthur. I have heard the rumors from the next town over. It is not difficult to connect the dots. Now, perhaps we will discuss your predicament somewhere a bit less, public?" Francis gestured toward a few people who eyed them as they passed by.

"Fine," Arthur sighed. "Lead the way."

* * *

The Bonnefoy residence wasn't in town like Matthew had expected, but about half a mile away, surrounded by green hills and wildflowers.

"You two come from Madison, do you not?"

"Don't ask something you already know the answer to, Frog." Arthur said, but Francis waved a hand dismissively and remained focused on the boys.

"We do!" Alfred nodded. "Your house is really big," he added as an afterthought.

Matthew agreed quietly, taking in the spires and countless windows peering out to a lush garden.

"Merci, Alfred. Hmm, Madison is a small town, but they are known to have strong anti-British sentiment. It surprises me that two young boys who grew up there would trust a British soldier enough to run off with him."

"We both support the revolution," Alfred stated proudly, as Matthew nodded beside him. "But we also like Artie, so we want to stay with him."

"Such a simple response," Francis said, but his voice was warm.

"And what are your views on the revolution?" Arthur asked, carefully.

"That should be obvious, mon ami."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Ne t'inquiète pas. I will not report you, Arthur. I extend an invitation to stay as long as you need."

"I appreciate your hospitality," Arthur said stiffly, which drew a laugh from Francis.

"Je t'en prie. You boys must be hungry. How about I have dinner prepared for you?" Arthur muttered unintelligible words under his breath, but Francis ignored ignored him and bent down so that he was nearer the same height as the boys. "Does that sound alright?"

"Oui, s'il vous plaît," Matthew said.

"Ah, do you speak French, Mathieu?"

"A little. Our mother grew up in Quebec."

"I see, you as well, Alfred?"

"I never picked it up as quickly as Mattie."

Francis turned to a woman in servant's garb. He spoke in fast French, too quick for Matthew's still intermediate level to pick up.

"Why don't you two follow Ms. Ashford. She'll prepare you something while Arthur explains to me exactly what sort of trouble he's gotten himself into," Francis directed them, and the two boys looked to Arthur for approval. When he nodded, they followed Ms. Ashford to a dining room. Matthew's eyes widened at the size of the table and the detailed china spread across it.

Soon, the boys were happily munching on bread. Ms. Ashford brought out small basket of something and black and ovular. Matthew picked one of the curious objects up. It was cold and squishy. Popping one in his mouth, he grinned. It was so sweet!

"Try it, Al!" Matthew said, shoving a few in his brother's hands.

"They're good," Alfred said, eyes wide. "What are they called?"

"Blackberries," Ms. Ashford giggled.

Soon, Arthur and Francis entered the room. Arthur looked a little annoyed, but he didn't seem quite as standoffish toward the Frenchman. Francis still wore a smile and walked with lighthearted strides.

"How would you boys like to stay here with Big Brother Francis while Arthur seeks out his pardon?" Francis announced in a singsong voice.

"You're going to leave?" Alfred asked, his voice a bit fearful.

"Just for a while," Arthur assured him. "My circumstances are delicate, and Francis here has agreed to watch over you while I take care of some matters."

"How long will it take?" Alfred asked.

"Al," Matthew scolded quietly. "Thank you for letting us stay, Mr. Bonnefoy," he said, addressing Francis. He wasn't too fond of the idea, either, but he liked Francis and knew that Arthur's predicament was serious, though he didn't quite understand it.

"You are very welcome, Mathieu. I'm sure Arthur will return as soon as he is able, Alfred. There is no need to worry."

Arthur folded his arms, eyeing Francis warily. "I'm more worried about leaving you two in the hands of this lunatic. Where is Joan? I believe she can be trusted far more than you with their well being."

Francis frowned slightly before offering a sad smile. "She is out, I'm afraid."

"Give her my greetings, then." He glanced outside at the sun looming in the sky. "I'll be taking my leave now, before I lose the chance to catch up with the troops" Arthur said.

"Already?" Alfred gasped.

"Mr. Bonnefoy was kind enough to direct me to my fellow troops," Arthur said, the act of complimenting Francis seeming to make him physically ill. "Why he knew such information, I will never know." Francis smiled knowingly, leaving Matthew to wonder if the man had more up his sleeve than he let on. Catching Mattie's stare, Francis winked, and Matthew could barely suppress a small laugh, both from the Frenchman's playful antics and embarrassment at being caught.

"And I mustn't waste any time. If the colonel isn't there when I arrive, we'll be back to square one," Arthur continued.

Alfred barreled into Arthur, his arms around the man's waste in a tight hug. Arthur held still for a moment before returning it, a soft smile on his face. Matthew watched the display, slightly jealous that Alfred always seemed to be able to move forward with such certainty. Francis snickered under his breath, earning him a sharp glare from Arthur. When Alfred released Arthur, Matthew approached for a hug as well, if more tentatively than Alfred.

"Take care of yourself," Arthur said, before adding, "and your brother, I know he can be a handful."

"I will," Matthew said, smiling up at him.

Sighing, Arthur turned toward Francis. "I know we haven't gotten along well in the past, or now, really, but I hope you know that I do appreciate your help. You didn't have to go out of your way for us."

"I am well aware, but who else would come to your aid if not the beautiful moi?" Francis laughed, but noticing Arthur's serious gaze, he grew solemn. "Do not worry, Alfred and Mathieu will be here waiting happy and healthy when you return."

They walked together to the door, Arthur opening it with one final glance at the twins. "I'll see you soon," he said.

"See you soon," Alfred said with a wave while Matthew nodded.

* * *

That night, Matthew sat on a much-too-large bed and stared blankly at the vast room, adorned with portraits and vases. Francis had given each of them separate rooms. Matthew had almost protested, preferring to share with his brother, but Alfred had seemed so excited by the prospect of being in his own room that Matthew couldn't bear to disappoint him. The day had ended uneventfully, with Francis giving them a brief tour of the house and cooking dinner for them himself. Both boys had loved the food and Matthew enjoyed listening to Francis tell stories of his home in France.

"Once our lives are less hectic I will have to show it to you," Francis had said.

Now, Matthew couldn't sleep. His mind kept spinning with the fact that they were practically on the run, and worry gnawed at his stomach when he thought about Arthur. Tiptoeing out of bed, he made his way to his brother's room.

"Al?" Matthew whispered, peeking his head through the door.

Alfred snored lightly, a heavy blanket tucked around him.

Giving up, Matthew closed the door, instead taking to wandering the hallway and gazing at the beautiful painting that adorned the walls.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Matthew jumped.

"Sorry, sorry. I did not mean to startle you," Francis said.

Matthew bit his lip, wondering if Francis would scold him for being out of bed at this time of night.

"Are you worried about Arthur?"

Matthew's eyes widened, but after thinking for a moment he slowly nodded.

"I don't like waiting," Matthew said. "What if something happens to him?"

Francis hummed, staring thoughtfully at the boy. "Do you mind doing me a favor, Mathieu?"

Taken aback by the change in subject, Matthew nodded his response.

"Excellent, follow me."

Matthew followed Francis down the hall and up a flight of stairs. He was led into a small room with a crib in the corner and toys littered across the floor. Reaching into the crib, Francis pulled out a stuffed white bear and handed it to Matthew.

"I need you to take care of him, for me, mon petit Mathieu."

"How come?"

Francis stared at the toy, a smile on his face, but Matthew couldn't read his expression as anything but sad. "His name is Kumajiro. The bear is meant to be taken care of by a child, like yourself, but he has been neglected for over a year now."

"Why is his coat white?" Matthew wondered, admiring the stuffed animal.

"It is a polar bear. They are found up North. You said your mother was from Quebec, yes?"

Matthew nodded.

"My wife, Joan, traveled a bit North of the settlements in that region. She saw one of these creatures and thought that it was beautiful. Of course, when she saw one, they were not considered their own species yet, but that is beside the point." Tears welled in Francis' eyes. "When she found out she was pregnant, she was determined to make this toy for the child herself."

Matthew hugged the bear to his chest, unsure what to say. "Are you sure you want me to have it?"

"It is better than having it collect dust in this room," Francis said, his voice caught in his throat. "But you need to promise me you will take care of him."

"I will," Matthew promised, causing Francis to smile and place a hand on his head.

"Let's get you back to bed, then."

Matthew grabbed Francis' hand while clutching Kumajiro in his other arm. It was the only thing he could think of to comfort the man as he led him back to his room. When they reached the door, Matthew paused. "How did they pass away?" he asked, not turning to face Francis

He was met with silence for a few moments, and began to wonder if Francis had already left.

"Neither made it past the childbirth," he said at last.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said quietly. "Al and my parents passed away."

"Arthur told me as much," Francis replied, his voice scratchy. "I'm sorry."

Matthew turned the knob to his door and shut it softly behind him. Creeping into bed, he clutched the polar bear to his chest.

 _I'll protect Kumajiro for you, Mr. Bonnefoy,_ he promised.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you for reading! Apologies if the French is inaccurate, and feel free to let me know if I made any mistakes. Happy belated holidays!**


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